


Oh, Christmas Tree

by spikesgirl58



Series: Twenty Five Days of Christmas [18]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 11:17:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya discovers the danger of making a wish under the Christmas tree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, Christmas Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cousin Joy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cousin+Joy).



Something was scratching his face and not in the most pleasant of ways.  Illya cautiously opened one eye, just in case the sensation heralded a visitor of the avian persuasion.  A curtain of green obstructed his view and that was when he risked opening the other eye.   It took him a moment to realize he was looking through pine branches.  No, not pine branches, pine needles.  What the hell?

Illya moved and found himself swaying in the air as a result.  It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was a bit disconcerting.  He felt lighter than air, then a branch hit him in the face and he instinctively grabbed it.  He twisted around and managed to get a firmer grip on the limb.

“Hey, quit rocking the tree.  Rookies…”

Illya looked around to find the source of the voice, but all he could see were ornaments.  Really big ornaments… ornaments the same size as he was…

A very unsettling thought occurred to him at that moment.  He started breathing heavily as he realized he was an ornament in a tree.  This was odd, but very real.  He could smell the pine and feel the needles against his skin.

He struggled out of his shirt and discovered there was a large hook running through the back of his shirt.  _Well, better that than me_ he thought.  He worked the hook out and pulled his shirt back on as protection against the pine needles.

“What has happened to me?”

“You got your wish, didn’t you?”

“What?  No, I never…”  Illya stopped.  He hadn’t, had he?  Well, for a minute he thought how wonderful it would be to be part of a Christmas tree and see all the happy faces of the people passing by.  “Not tl all.”

“Whatever you say, Dodger.”  Illya finally located the speaker.  It was a cardinal perched on a branch.

“You’re a bird!”

“I am?!”  The bird looked himself over.  “Guess I am.”

“A talking bird,” Illya said weakly.

“Looks like he’s got brains as well as looks.”

“Not to toot my own self, but I’d say he was blown away.”  This came from a small brass horn.

“Enough with the puns, Mr. Horn.”  That came from a ball with a reindeer painted on it.

“I can’t stay this way.” Illya got shifted around to sit on a branch.  “This is insane.”

“We could feed you to Mr. Lion.”  This came from a white and silver hedgehog.  There was a resounding roar from the other side of the tree.  “It sounds like he’s game and he’s always hungry.  Better you than me.”

“No, thanks.”

“Well, there is a way, but it’s very dangerous.”    The angel’s halo was bent and one of her wings dangled at a precarious angle.

“That’s just crazy talk, Feathers.”  A bright yellow star protested so vehemently  that it twirled on its branch.

“No one has ever made it.”   A felt tree trembled.  “Terrible things happened to anyone who has tried.”

“No one else on the tree has opposable thumbs,” argued a wooden train engine.

“What is it?”  Illya looked from one to the other, wincing as sap seeped through his pants and stuck them to his butt.  “I’ll try anything if it gets me back to Napoleon.”

“Who?”

“My partner?”

“The Decorator,” the angel said.  “All hail the Decorator.  He is your friend?”

“He is.  A very dear friend.”

“Tell him, Red.”

“The story is that you have to climb to the top of the tree.” The cardinal fluffed its bright red feathers.  “When you reach the star there, you touch it and recite, _Star of wonder, star of light, grant me my wish tonight.”_

“You’re joking.”

“Do I look like a kidder to you?” 

Illya shook his head.  “No, you look like a talking bird.”  He eased his way down the branch to the tree trunk.

“You’re going to do it?”  A blue glass ball asked.  “Well, color me tickled pink.”

“That would make you purple,” protested an icicle.  “Whoever heard of a purple ornament?”

Illya shut them out as a small purr drew his attention.  A little kitten with a ball of yarn was staring at him.   “Be careful of the lights.  They can burn you.”

“Thank you.”

                                                                                ****

Illya felt as if a thousand years had passed, but gradually he neared the top.  A shimmering red star glistened in the night, a beckon in the dark.

 _Red star, well at least that makes sense to me_ , Illya thought.  It was now a straight shimmy up to the top, but the top was tightly wound with lights.  He had discovered the kitten told the truth about the lights.  He’d burned his fingers twice on his climb up, but that made him even more determined to reach his goal.

Carefully, he fought his way up, using the light strand when he could, avoiding the bulbs when he couldn’t.

He was so tired and felt himself losing strength at an alarming rate.  Illya gritted his teeth and pressed on.  Only his need to see Napoleon drove him on.

Illya got a hand on the base of the star and felt a shiver run through him.  Low voltage shock, he thought.   He reached up and grabbed the nearest arm of the star and nearly yelled out loud as a shock blasted through him.  Somehow he managed to stammer out the necessary words and then he was fallen.

As he passed the branches, he could hear shouts and cries from the ornaments.  It was all right, Illya decided as an odd peace descended upon him.  If he couldn’t be with Napoleon, then he didn’t want to be at all.

He hit the floor and gasped.

Illya opened his eyes and was looking up at the tree from beneath it.  With a cry, he scrambled out from under the tree.

“Will you keep it down?  Not all of us can mix drinks like you can.”

Illya sat up and looked over at Napoleon.  The man was wrapped up in blankets on the rug in front of the tree.  A fire was slowly dying and the room was dark except for the glow of the Christmas tree.

“Sorry.  Bad dream.”  Illya moved away from the tree to lie down beside Napoleon.

“I warned you about mixing egg nog and _piroshkies_.”    Napoleon lifted up a corner of the blanket and Illya slipped in.  “How are your fingers?”

“Fingers?”

“The ones you burned this afternoon when you were taking the _bobalky_ out of the oven?”

Illya held his fingers up and squinted.  Then he looked over at the tree and he swore the cardinal winked at him.  With a shiver, Illya snuggled down against Napoleon and made a silent vow to be more careful what he wished for beneath the Christmas tree next year.


End file.
